The Battle
by CHOOSELIFE
Summary: The musician-to-be had moved to New York, gotten married, and had a child. After a tragedy strikes, twenty-six year old Drake Parker returns home. His life is left in shambles and he's controlled by his grief. His mother tries to help him work through this catastrophe as best as she can, but how can one get over the death of his own child, especially when he blames himself?


Audrey opened the door and greeted her son with a smile and a tight squeeze. "Oh, Drake, it's so nice to see you again! I just wish it wasn't because of such terrible circumstances."

It had been a while since she'd seen him last. The young man, now age twenty-six, had moved out to New York several years ago to pursue his music career. He didn't visit home often these days, but Audrey understood that he was busy. They spoke over the phone every day - Drake was secretly a mama's boy - but it wasn't the same as seeing him in person and actually hugging him until he couldn't breathe.

"Hey, Mom." His voice was different. It was dead.

Audrey pulled back to examine what else had changed about her son. He seemed a lot taller than he had been when she'd last seen him, and he looked a lot older. New York just had a way of doing that to people. He wasn't even thirty yet and he already had a few gray hairs contaminating the messy auburn mop on his head. He had obviously slept during the taxi ride here, yet he still looked exhausted.

Audrey ruled it out as jet lag and said, "You must be tired. Go on upstairs and get some rest. We can catch up in the morning."

"I'm okay."

Judging by the sight of him, she knew she should protest, but she was too excited about seeing him to force him to sleep. "Well, come on in," she said, pulling him inside and closing the door behind him.

Drake came to a halt after a couple of steps and looked around. Everything was the same. He took in a breath of air through his nose. _It even smells like home_ , he thought as he reminisced about when he was younger and things had been so simple. God, if only he could turn back time.

Audrey led him into the living room. Drake was dragging behind as he examined every little piece of decor that he passed. They had all been so insignificant before; he'd hardly ever noticed them. They were just little unsought-after trinkets picked up at the store if it matched the house's color or small souvenirs that held memories of family vacations. However, each and every one of these items held a piece of the man's childhood - something he hadn't pined over too much until now.

Audrey studied her son as he made a detour towards the cabinet behind the dining room table. Finally, he spotted a change. It was so different that he wasn't sure why his eyes hadn't caught sight of it beforehand. There were more picture frames amid the clutter of decor on the shelves. Next to a photo of Megan that had been there for as long as he could recall was a more recent one of herself and her friends huddled together in front of her university. Drake was proud of his sister. She was following her dreams. He admired that and thought back to a time when he himself still had hope that his dreams were a possibility. It felt so long ago now.

The young man moved his eyes to a different shelf and locked his gaze on another photo. This one was of his step-brother with his wife Mindy and their two daughters at the zoo. It was the most recent picture on the shelf. Drake could tell the frame was new by the lack of dust, which made it differ from the others. The young man reached out towards the photo and picked it up. One of the girls in it was excitedly pointing at a large tortoise. She was three years old, and she'd grown up quite a bit since Drake had last seen her. When she was born, she'd been a spitting image of Josh - same nose, same eyes, dark hair - but as she grew older, she started to look a lot more like her mother. Drake had never met Josh's other daughter. She was only 8 months old, and she actually had a lot of Walter in her, poor thing.

Drake had to admit that he was jealous of his brother. His life was perfect. Perfect wife, perfect kids, perfect job, perfect home. Drake had none of those. Not anymore.

"You wanna come sit down, sweetie?" Audrey spoke up, breaking him from his thoughts.

Drake set the photo down and moved over to the couch. Once again, he became distracted by something else and instead changed his destination to the small table that was under the kitchen window. On it were a couple clear glasses and an elegant glass bottle of whiskey. He pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured a bit more than the normal amount into a cup. "Walter won't mind, will he?"

"No, help yourself."

Drake turned the glass over his lips and swallowed a good bit of the liquid as if he had done this plenty of times before. His facial features didn't twist in the slightest, and there was no cringe whatsoever. The man noticed that he had already drank a good bit of the alcohol in that one gulp alone, so he picked up the bottle and carried it and his glass over to the coffee table, then he took a seat next to his mother on the couch.

"How have you been?" Audrey asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"As fine as I can be, I guess."

"I'm so sorry about what happened with Jemma. I thought you two were gonna work. I really liked her."

"Yeah, me, too," Drake said in a quieter voice, then he tilted the glass over his mouth and took another drink.

Audrey watched with discomfort as he reached for the bottle on the table and poured more into his glass, but she said nothing about it. "I'm so glad you're finally home, even if it _is_ just for a week."

"That's actually, um-" Swallow. This time, Drake gritted his teeth together and took in a sharp breath of air. "I wanted to talk to you about that."

"Sure." Audrey cocked her head to the side slightly, her eyes filled with concern.

"I actually got evicted-" Belch. "...a couple months ago. After everything that happened, I lost my job." He kept his eyes on his lap, and he was starting to feel the whiskey making him tipsy. Perfect timing. He hated admitting all of this out loud; it made him feel as though he was less of a man. "I've got so much debt piled up, and I've been sleeping in my car. I can't even afford to make the payments on that, so I left it with Jemma before I came back here."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Audrey asked. "You know Walter and I would've been more than happy to help you out."

"You guys have done a lot for me already," Drake said. "I just... Just for a little while, you know? Then I'll be out of your hair, and I'll stop bothering you."

"Drake, you're not a bother," Audrey assured, moving his bangs out of his eyes so that she could see him better although he still held his gaze on his jeans. "Don't be ashamed to ask for help. You've been through hell for someone of your age, and times like these are exactly what family was meant for."

Drake forcefully twitched his lips into a small smile. It had come and gone so fast that his mother almost wasn't sure that she saw it.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Drake sighed, and for the first time during this conversation, he lifted his head, but he still didn't make eye contact. "I don't know." He paused. "Ever since..." Again, his eyes returned to his lap. "It just hasn't been the same."

The young man gulped down what was left in his glass, then poured another. All his mom had ever really wanted was for him to talk things out with her and let her know how he was truly feeling, but Drake was a closed book. He hated showing his emotions, but maybe it was time that he stopped keeping them bottled up. This was definitely the alcohol talking, but it was probably right.

"Talk to me," Audrey pushed.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake had never been so nervous in his entire life. Nothing he could recall compared to this. Not the first time he performed on stage. Not moving across the country on a mere whim. Not proposing to Jemma. Nothing.

He wasn't sure why he was nervous. He was okay with either answer. If the answer was yes, they'd figure it out. They always did. That's why he loved her. Jemma was great at keeping her cool. She was the most down-to-earth, peace-keeping woman in the world. She was smart, beautiful, and she made him laugh even when he didn't want to. She believed in him and his work, she supported his art, and she made him feel like he was important. That had always been an issue with Drake. Josh and Megan were both highly intelligent. Growing up with them, Drake was always being compared to the two. Becoming a musician was such a risky thing to go after, so although Audrey supported him, he could tell she had reservations. Jemma had none. She was constantly pushing him to better himself. She was at every gig. She was his number one fan, and he was so incredibly lucky to have her. He wasn't sure he would be able to do it without her. She kept him sane and motivated, and there was no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

His eyes went wide and he raised his eyebrows eagerly, expecting a result when Jemma opened the bathroom door.

"Calm down," Jemma comforted, putting her hands on his chest.

"Now what?" Drake asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Now we wait."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"I'm kinda of tired," the boy replied finally. "I think I should be getting to sleep." He started to stand, but Audrey placed her hand on his shoulder, keeping him from leaving.

"Keeping it bottled up isn't going to help. It's not something you'll just forget about if you ignore it long enough. You need to get it off your chest. It's already gotten in the way of your relationship with your wife."

Drake picked up the jar of whiskey and started to pour himself another glass, but Audrey grabbed it from him and set it back down rather loudly to tell him that he was finished.

"Enough," she said sternly. "You can't keep punishing yourself." She was asking him to feel, and he didn't want that.

Drake's anger grew. "You have no idea what I've been through."

"Then tell me," Audrey pleaded after putting her hand on his cheek so that he was forced to look at her. Her eyes gazed into his glazed ones, and for a second, she thought that maybe he would open up.

However, Drake pushed her away, stood, then tossed his empty glass as hard as he could. It collided with the wall next to the kitchen window and shattered into pieces, leaving the two in an eerie silence.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake looked over Jemma's shoulder, ready for an answer, but he became more confused instead. The woman turned and looked up at him with a smile, waiting to see his reaction.

"Two lines?" he said nervously. "What does that mean?"

"It means congratulations, you're gonna be a father."

Drake let go of his breath through his nose, and even throughout all of his anxieties and worries, he found himself grinning from ear to ear. "Really?" the young man said, and his voice cracked. His eyes were already dripping, so he wiped away the water and let go of a joyous laugh.

The couple had tried to have a baby a year prior to this moment. After a lot of failed attempts, they had talked to a doctor about it, and that's when Drake had been diagnosed with infertility. He'd taken the news pretty hard, but Jemma, being the amazing woman that she was, wouldn't give up. After trying everything he could think of (vitamins, a better nutrition, less drinking) and still nothing, he finally gave in to Jemma's idea. She came from a Christian family, and although she and Drake never attended church, she still prayed and read scripture. Her plan was to go to a preacher and have him pray over the couple. It had been a strange experience, but Drake had been desperate. He felt like he couldn't give Jemma what he knew she wanted; he felt like it was his fault. The preacher had laid hands on them, prayed for them, and here they were with good news. Whether it was just a coincidence or the real deal, Drake didn't care. He was finally able to create his own little family, and he knew that that's all Jemma ever wanted.

Jemma wrapped her arms around him, and he squeezed her tightly, then kissed her forehead. She lifted her chin so that their lips could connect after that.

"I love you," he said, his cheeks wet with happy tears.

"I love you, too."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

His hands were on his hips as he let go of his breath and whispered with his head hung, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's healthier to let it all out." Audrey stood, and since he shamefully kept her from seeing his face, she rubbed his back. "It's been a year and a half, Drake. You can't keep compressing it."

"I just feel like..." Drake sighed. He knew she was right, but he didn't want to talk about it. He'd kept it inside for so long that it felt better to dwell in that anger and bitterness and spite than it did to let it go and feel absolutely nothing.

"Tell me," she urged.

"I feel like it's my fault," he admitted softly.

"Oh, honey..." She tried to spin him around, but he shrugged her hands away and took a step away from her, but this time he finally turned and met her eyes.

"Stop." He sighed. "Mom..."

"Sweetie, you had no control over this."

"I wasn't supposed to be able to have kids."

"But you overcame that-" she tried.

"Yeah, and look where it got me. Look where it got my family."

Audrey watched as her oldest son struggled to keep his tears back. She knew he liked to pretend he was okay. He's been doing it for years now. However, many months ago, he'd drunkenly admitted to her that he and Jemma had been fighting constantly, that he was drinking too much, that he wasn't happy anymore. After what had happened, he was never able to forgive himself, and the worst part was that it wasn't even his fault.

Drake Parker was not okay.

"Fuck," Drake whispered as a tear managed to slip. He sniffled and wiped it from his eye.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Jemma was crying. He should be crying, too, right? But he couldn't. He was in shock. He knew he should be listening to the doctor, but his mind kept traveling to other places. Jemma would fill him in later. She always kept up with all the important things anyway. This should've been different. This was a lot more urgent than a dinner date with friends or the electricity bill due date. Drake tried to listen, but every time he opened his ears, they would fill with a few words and phrases that he didn't want to hear before he'd drift off again. He caught some. _"The cancer's back"_ was the first. And if he'd thought that _that_ one was bad, he was sure he stopped breathing when he heard _"terminal"_ come out of the doctor's mouth. _"Fatal." "Incurable."_ Jesus, how many words could he keep coming up with to skirt around the real one. Death.

"So...what?" He'd furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose. Despite the words he'd just heard, he asked, "What does that mean? It's treatable?" He'd met the doctor's eyes then. "Right? I mean, you can help him?"

The man had clicked his tongue and pondered how to answer until finally coming up with, "I'm sorry-"

"You're sorry?! How the hell is that gonna help anything?!"

Jemma had tried to calm him. "Drake-"

"What, I'm just supposed to watch my son die?!"

"Drake," she'd said with a firmer voice, and she'd put her hand on his shoulder to push him back against the couch.

That's when he'd zoned out. His mind was racing, but at the same time, he couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He felt like all the tears he wanted to cry had somehow ended up in his throat and were strangling him. He was drowning. After everything they had been through trying to make this baby happen, suddenly none of it mattered. Suddenly, it was gone. Just like that. Poof.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake's face twisted and contorted as he tried with all of his might to keep himself from crying. He looked at the ground and softly combed his fingers through his bangs, sniffled, then took in a shaky breath to collect himself before looking at his mother again. To anyone else, he would look just fine. To his mother, however, who had just seen a piece of his true feelings slip, he resembled someone who had been pushed a little too closely towards the edge of a cliff, and Drake was ready to jump. It shattered her heart to know what he had gone through. He didn't deserve any of it, and for him to have held on so tightly to his bottled up emotions for so long made her distraught. She started to speak, but he was faster.

"I'm tired," he said softly, giving a reason to excuse himself. "I'm going to bed." He turned and started to go upstairs, but stopped with surprise at the tone of his mother's voice.

"That's what you always do, huh?" Audrey seemed almost...angry? "Run? Hide? You crawl into bed and try to sleep so you can forget, but you don't, do you? You wake up from nightmares. You wake up in tears. You wake up...alone. So when you can no longer sleep away the pain, you drown it all out with alcohol."

He started to retaliate, but she didn't give him time.

"Is that it? Because that way, at least _you_ are protected from all of these emotions. At least you know that _you_ will be okay."

"The fuck do you know?"

"I know what it's like to lose a son!" she responded, her voice rising.

Drake's volume matched hers. "I moved, Mom! I'm not laying in a coffin somewhere!"

"You might as well be."

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake sighed with irritation as he bounced the screaming child. His eyelids hung lazily just above his pupils as he moved back and forth in the rocking chair. His voice was worn out from all the singing he'd done as an attempt to calm his son down. Nothing had worked. The young man stood and tried pacing.

"Please, go to sleep," he begged with desperation.

However, this tactic didn't seem to change anything either. In fact, the screaming was growing louder.

"I know you don't feel good."

Meekah was constantly vomiting, he was always coughing, and his nose was always dripping with snot. He was in pain. Drake could tell by how wretched his cries were. They were loud, and they pierced his eardrums. At least he wasn't hitting himself. Meekah would often get frustrated and punch himself with his balled-up fists over and over again.

Drake hated witnessing what his son had to endure every fucking day of his life. It was cruel. It was torturous. He was only three years old, for Christ's sake! The cancer was first discovered at thirteen months - right after Meekah's first birthday. Seven months later, he was cancer-free. It was short-lived, and Drake always regretted that maybe he'd taken it for granted because now it was back and worse than ever. _"Terminal,"_ as the doctor had said.

 _Is it all for nothing?_ Drake often pondered. It's tearing his marriage apart while piling up tons and tons of debt, and Meekah - poor, innocent Meekah - is in so much pain. The chemotherapy will keep him stay alive a little longer than he would without it, but he still has a death sentence. Tragedy is on the horizon, and there's no avoiding it. _Is prolonging the suffering really the best thing to do?_

Drake often hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn't help it. _Wouldn't everyone be better off...?_ He couldn't even finish his thought without guilt overpowering him. He would never wish his son dead, but sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe that's what Meekah would prefer if he was old enough to understand what was happening to him. Based on the toddler's screeches that were only broken by deep breaths of air and violent coughs, Meekah was slowly suffering. Is it even fair for them to try to keep him on this earth for longer than he was intended? All he wanted was a break, or that's what Drake assumed that he wanted because that's what Drake himself wanted.

The toddler's head was right next to his father's ear, and Drake couldn't take it anymore. He moved over to the crib, stumbling slightly over one of the cords coming from the IV pole, which was left here earlier today after an outpatient nurse had visited to administer the child's weekly chemotherapy. Drake placed the toddler onto the mattress, and Meekah continued screaming at the top of his lungs. Drake was overwhelmed, and he needed to get away before he did something he regretted. He went into the bathroom and locked himself inside, but he could still hear the sobbing child, only slightly muffled through the closed door. He leaned his back against the wood and took in a deep breath, then another, then another. However, no matter how hard he tried to hold back, the waterworks came. Suddenly, everything he tried to bury deep down was coming out. He gradually bent his knees, slowly sliding his back down the door until he rested on his bottom. He leaned his head on the cabinet next to himself and covered his eyes with one hand as the tears slipped down his cheeks.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Her bitter words had surprised him. He looked at her, so shocked that his voice came out as a whisper. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I was so excited when you said you were coming for a visit. I spent weeks planning and cleaning and making sure everything would be perfect, and then finally the day has come and I open that front door, but I have no idea who that man is that's standing on the other side of the threshold."

Drake chuckled angrily, looking up at the ceiling with bitter disbelief. He couldn't meet her eyes because he knew she was right, and Drake was too stubborn to give in. He was tipsy, he was angry, he was exhausted, and he was ready to pick a fight. That's what he always did. That's how he handled things. It was his way of relieving some steam. However, this wasn't some drunkard at a bar. This was his mother - the woman who had birthed him and had taken care of him for as long as he had existed. He didn't have the heart to argue with her because he knew he would say something harsh that he didn't mean.

The young man sighed, then moved his eyes to the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. Finally, he decided on, "You're right." Giving in didn't feel nearly as good as he had originally thought. He hated the vulnerability and humility that came with it. Fighting felt much better than this, and it wasn't too late to start one.

Audrey stepped closer to her son and placed her palms on his cheeks. "Oh, Drake-" But she was pushed away.

"Because I'm a piece of shit alcoholic."

"I never said that." She expressed a look of confusion, for she had thought that she was finally getting through to him.

"You meant it, though." Drake took a step back. "Yeah?"

"Why are you being like this?"

"That's what you meant, wasn't it?!" he snapped. He nodded as if subconsciously urging her to tell him the truth. He cocked his head to the side, and Audrey almost didn't believe it, but she finally saw the dam behind his eyelids crumble and tears began dripping down his cheeks. He sniffled. He continued moving his head up and down in a nod, but now it was in more of an absentminded manner. His voice cracked as he spoke almost inaudibly. "Because it's true."

 ***FLASHBACK***

"I really wish you would come to church with us in the morning," Jemma pushed for the hundredth time.

"I think I'm just gonna stay home," Drake said. "I've gotta call my mom and see if she can send a little extra cash this week."

He'd said it so that maybe she'd feel guilty. Every time he opened up the mail, it seemed as though he was receiving more and more doctor bills. Thank God for his family. Drake didn't know how his tiny Parker family could stay afloat without them. Mom and Walter sent money every single week. Josh and Mindy offered to pay several of the bills Meekah had racked up via doctors, outpatient nurses, medications, important in-home equipment, etc. Even Megan had created a better class schedule so that she could work a full time job during the day and send as much as she possibly could to her older brother and his family. Jemma's family was helping out just as much; it wasn't just his side holding everyone up. It's just that Jemma insisted on going to church every Sunday and giving a rather hefty tithe, and that didn't bode well with Drake - not when he was asking for so much from everyone. What sense did it make to give it away?

"You can call on the way to church." She was no longer pushing for him to join her. Instead, she was expressing that she knew he was willing to make up lousy excuses to avoid it.

"I just don't wanna go, okay?" _Here we go again._ Drake could already feel it.

"You wanted a child," Jemma said. "God gave you child."

"And now He's taking him away!" Drake retaliated, unaware that he was now yelling.

"God's not taking him away! He's gonna give us a miracle! He's gonna heal our son! Just like before!"

"Did you not hear the doctors - what they're all saying?!"

"I heard them," Jemma said, lowering her voice to a normal volume again. "But I have faith."

There's that word again - the one she was always using these days. He heard it so many times now that it was like nails on a chalkboard. It made him visibly cringe each time it came out of her mouth.

Drake let go of a short, bitter chuckle. "Great."

"I just wish you'd-"

"No, that's just great!" he interrupted. "Our son is fucking dying, and you believe these fairy tales are gonna make everything all better?! WAKE UP!"

Jemma flinched at his monstrous voice. The loud yelling was beginning to wake Meekah from his slumber.

Drake's exhausted, fury-filled eyes were rimmed with red as he tried to keep himself from bursting into sobs. "Nothing can save him! No one can save him! He's gonna die, and there's nothing we can do about it! God doesn't exist!"

"That's not true." Jemma shook her head, her eyes watering over with tears.

"Of course it is! If God were real, do you think He would allow us to go through all of this?!"

"It's a test. He's testing us."

"A test?! He's testing us by taking our son away?!"

"He wants us to believe that He will heal Meekah. He wants us to have faith."

Drake knew that he wasn't going to get through to her, and she wasn't going to get through to him. He could hear Meekah beginning to cry as he woke from his nap. Although his son was three, he didn't know a lot of words, so all he ever did was cry. It saddened Drake that he'd probably never hear his son say he loved him, and Meekah probably didn't understand what Drake meant when he said it to the toddler.

The man put his hands on his hips, then shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm all out."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"You're not," Audrey tried to assure him. "You've been through hell, but you're _not_ a bad person." She went to squeeze him tight and hold him until he believed her words and felt how much he was loved.

Drake waved her away and stepped back as if she were a mangy rat. "I'm done talking," he said. "I'm going to bed." Without another word, he disappeared upstairs.

He followed the familiar pathway to his childhood room - the one he and Josh had shared growing up. What he would give to go back in time and be the person he used to be: carefree, happy-go-lucky, ignorantly blissful Drake Parker. No worries in the world - nothing that compared to his present struggles anyway.

Drake placed his hand onto the cold knob, twisted, then pushed open the door and took a step inside. The room was mostly the same, only emptier. When he and Josh had moved out, they'd taken some of their belongings with them - Josh with his Syfy movie collection and Drake with his vinyl records. Other less important things were either sold or given to a Goodwill store. Luckily, Audrey and Walter had never gotten rid of their beds. They knew their children would need a place to sleep whenever they visited with their families and their accomplishments in life. Ha! Drake almost bitterly laughed out loud.

He started to regret not visiting home more often. He and his parents had rotated their trips every four months (Audrey and Walter would travel to New York in July and Drake and Jemma would go back to California for Thanksgiving with their families). Megan's university was a few hours away from home, so when her brothers visited, she would drive back to see them. Josh, Mindy, and their kids also resided in California still. It was just Drake who had wanted to get away so badly, yet he had made less of himself than his siblings.

After Meekah was born, they stayed on a similar schedule. Nothing had really changed until they learned about the cancer soon after their son's first birthday. It had been devastating news, but both of their families had been extremely helpful and supportive and uplifting. The home visits ceased, but Audrey and Walter still came to New York and, at times, brought Megan along when school was out for break. It continued like this until, many months later, Drake and Jemma finally received the amazing news that their child was cancer-free. Drake remembered that day as if it was yesterday. He could recall every little minute detail: what clothes they'd all been wearing, the weather outside, how the traffic had been, what he'd eaten for breakfast. God, how he wished for another day like that one. A little over a year after that, they were given bad news again, only this time...it wasn't fixable. Nothing could be done to save their precious child.

 _"How long?"_ he could remember asking.

 _"I'm afraid there's not much time, but we can't know exactly how much for sure. I'd say...a week to maybe two months."_

Drake pushed his thoughts away as he climbed up the ladder to his loft. His bed was neatly made up. He peeled back his comforter and plopped down onto his mattress.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake sat at the foot of his bed rubbing his tired eyes with one hand and holding Meekah with the other. The man wore only his boxers, for he'd just gotten out of bed. It was almost seven in the morning. It was his day off, and he'd been looking forward to sleeping in. However, Jemma frantically getting dressed and ready and Meekah crawling into bed with him had woken him up. Drake was absolutely exhausted. Today was his only day off this week. He usually got up at three in the morning to start his day at a beer and wine distribution company. His job was to get everything onto his truck, then deliver the product to stores and gas stations. He usually got done with this a little after lunch time. He also had an additional part-time job as a hotel receptionist. He only worked three days a week there, but it was surprisingly good money, so it made the two hours of sleep he got those nights before he had to repeat his workday over again worth it. When he was off work, he stayed home with Meekah while Jemma went to her job. She was a night-school teacher who aided people seeking to learn sign language. Although Drake had dropped his music career after first learning of Meekah's cancer, Jemma still continued her schooling because, with her financial aid, she was practically getting paid to go, and the money was helping out a lot. After she paid for her tuition and books, they were able to divide the rest up to help with groceries and the car note. It was technically like a second job. They had a very fragile schedule, but it was working.

Meekah started to slide out of his father's arms, so Drake gave him a kiss on top of his head before letting him go. The child disappeared into the next room.

"Where are you going?" Drake asked, his voiced strained from tiredness as he stretched.

"I have a meeting at the church." To add to everything she already did, Jemma also volunteered her time at the church many times during the week. "And then after, we're taking care packages to the local homeless shelters."

Drake furrowed his brows. "I thought we were gonna spend some time together at home today. Since we're both off."

Because Drake and Jemma were constantly rotating between work schedules, Meekah's doctor visits, Jemma's schooling and church volunteer work, and the time they designated for sleep, they almost never got to see each other anymore.

"We talked about this the other day. Remember?" Jemma slipped on her earring as she glanced at him through the mirror's reflection.

Drake didn't. It was a wonder he could remember his own name running on as little sleep as he did. "So what? I'll see you for dinner?" He shrugged. "I guess?"

"Don't get pissy with me."

"I'm not getting pissy." However, his voice had raised slightly, and it was obvious that he wasn't happy about this news. Drake sighed as an attempt to calm himself. "I just miss you."

"I'll be back around three. You probably would've slept until then anyway had Meekah not woken you." She put in her other earring and ran her fingers through her hair to fix a part that was slightly sticking out of place. "I told them I would be there. You said it was okay. I made a prior commitment to them."

"You made a prior commitment to _me_." Drake stood. "When we got married four years ago."

Jemma turned to him. "They're my family, too."

"But I'm your husband!" He emphasized each word.

"I can't fight with you anymore," Jemma said tiredly. She felt that all the ever did was argue. "I'm already late as it is. They need me."

"What about me? _I_ need you!"

"Are we really gonna do this right now?"

"We haven't had sex in six months."

"Is that what this is about?!" Jemma asked incredulously. She was yelling, too. "You want to have sex?! Let's go! We'll have sex right here if that's what it'll take to get to my fucking meeting!"

"Fuck it. Fuck this entire thing! Fuck this relationship! And fuck you, you fucking cunt!" Drake turned and stormed into the master bathroom, then he slammed the door shut so loud that Jemma winced.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake had tossed and turned for quite a while before finally dozing into a slumber. He'd dreamed of Meekah. At first it was peaceful. They were both playing together and laughing. Meekah was even speaking in fluent English. Even though he didn't say _"I love you,"_ it felt just as good to hear his voice again. Drake and the child were stacking up alphabet blocks at random. This was always Meekah's favorite activity. He loved building things and then destroying it immediately after. He took after his father in that way, Drake supposed. The young man was also very talented in the same subject. He'd been able to build up a family, and he'd destroyed it just as quickly.

Drake felt a sickening feeling when Meekah put one last letter block on top of his tower. It was a _T_ , and this, along with the letters under it, created the word _terminal_. The second Drake read it, his son made a dash for it and knocked it over. His giggling immediately turned to screeches of pain. The young man turned, and suddenly, they were in a hospital. However, the hallways were dark and scary, and there were no doctors or nurses in sight.

"Hello?" he tried, but he found that he had no voice.

His ears filled with Meekah's distant screams. They were coming from a patient room several doors away. Drake started to push himself out of the floor, but when he looked down, he realized that he didn't have legs. His features filled with absolute terror. He lifted his head and searched around once again for help, and this time, there was a figure moving slowly down the hallway. He could immediately feel in his gut that this person was a threat. He watched fearfully as the figure rounded the corner of the nurses station and headed straight for his son's room.

"Stop!" Drake tried, but still, no words left his throat. "Stop!"

As the figure disappeared inside, Meekah's sobbing grew louder and more violent. Drake laid on his stomach and started dragging himself across the floor. It took all of his strength to pull himself along, for there wasn't anything to grab hold of. The floor squeaked as his skin slid against it, creating welts and red marks all over his bare torso, but he kept fighting. When he was finally close enough, Drake grabbed the doorframe of his son's room and pulled himself forwards one last time. Standing tall directly in front of Meekah's crib was the figure, and right next to him, with her arm wrapped around his waist, was Jemma.

She turned and smiled when she saw him. "Hey, Drake. Meet my husband and Meekah's new dad. His name is God."

Drake's brow furrowed with confusion, but that soon went away when the figure - "God," as Jemma had called him - opened the window and dropped Meekah outside.

"Nooo!" Drake shot up in bed, breathing deep. He was sweating and shaking, and he felt sick to his stomach. He relaxed his tense muscles and took in breaths of air, trying to calm his brain. All the while, his nightmare kept playing over and over in his mind, and he couldn't get those screams out of his head.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake closed his eyes and softly kissed his son's hairless scalp. He'd kissed it a dozen times already in the last five minutes alone, but he was making up for all the kisses he wouldn't get to give Meekah later on in life. He hated when those thoughts started occurring. He hated knowing that one day soon, he wouldn't be able to hold Meekah's hand anymore. He hated that every time he did hold his son's hand, the moment was ruined by his mind reminding him to always remember what holding his hand felt like: the creases in his palm, the length of his fingers. One day, none of that would be here, and one day, he would have only his memories of what it had once felt like to rely upon.

Every day, he could feel time running out. Every day was one less day he would be able to spend with his son. And once all the sand ran out of his hourglass, there was no flipping it over and starting again. The second the last grain dropped, that was it. No more re-dos. No more smiles and giggles. No more watching the same episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba! on repeat all day long. No more holding hands. No more kisses. No more Meekah.

Drake wrapped his arms around his napping son and, once again, he kissed the toddler's head. He pulled Meekah closer to his chest.

 _Because if you hold tight enough, nothing will take him. Right?_

Moments later, Drake's eyes shot open and he was on full alert. He didn't remember falling asleep. He looked up and saw Jemma folding the comforter down on her side of the bed. She slid in next to Meekah. Drake glanced behind her at the clock that was on her nightstand. It hadn't even been an hour since she'd left. She'd left the meeting early, and she'd bailed on the outreach mission.

"I'm sorry about what I said," Drake whispered so that he wouldn't wake his son. "I don't want this to be over. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She scooter closer and grabbed his hand to give him comfort and show him that she wasn't going anywhere. Jemma leaned forwards and kissed Meekah's forehead. "I love you," she said to the child, then she met Drake's eyes and slid her hand up his bicep and onto his cheek to show that she meant it towards him as well. And then she closed her eyes for a morning nap.

Drake did, too. He was tired all the time, but he absolutely hated sleeping. His biggest fear was that he would wake up and find that his son was gone.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what had happened that day. His biggest fear had come true. Meekah was gone.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake's nostrils twitched as he tilted the glass over his lips, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to calm his nerves. However, they all came back when the person on the other end of the phone answered.

"Hello?"

"Jemma?" he said, his voice cracking.

She sighed. "Drake, it's fucking three in the morning."

He'd forgotten that California was three hours behind New York. That wasn't really in the forefront of his thoughts right now.

The young man let go of a strangled sob as he rested his forehead on his palms. The second that noise escaped, he was no longer able to hide the fact that he was crying. "I'm sorry."

"Drake, have you been drinking again?"

"Yeah." He didn't have the heart to lie to her. Not again.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake sat up in bed. He hung his feet over the edge and turned his back to his wife. It was hard to get any sleep. He wasn't used to being able to sleep so much. Usually, he just took naps in between shifts, and most of the time, Meekah kept him awake crying or vomiting or coughing. Not anymore. Now the house was filled with an eerie silence.

"Jem?" he whispered meekly, for he knew what he was about to say would break her heart.

"Yeah?" Jemma couldn't sleep either, but this was the first time they'd spoken to each other since going to bed four hours ago.

Drake hesitated and bit his lip. He hung his head guiltily, then spoke in a quiet voice. "I slept with someone else."

Jemma sat up, unsure of what exactly he'd said because his voice had been so soft. "What?"

He closed his eyes and spoke louder. "I slept with someone else." He hated the silence that followed. He hadn't thought that this house could be any more silent than it already was with Meekah gone.

Jemma finally spoke. Her almost inaudible voice cracked. "When?"

"Three nights ago," Drake admitted.

"Three nights ago? When I was at the youth ministry sleepover?"

The fact that Jemma had been hanging out with and guiding church kids while Drake had been fucking some stranger made him feel even worse. Why was she so perfect? How was she doing it? How could she leave the house with a smile everyday? How could she even convince herself to get out of bed? Jesus, it had only been two months since Meekah's death.

Maybe it was because she couldn't wait to leave. Maybe she hated it here...this house...these memories...him. She was practically spending every waking moment at the church now. She was filling her soul with God and joy and whatever the hell else it was. Every single day, she was surrounded by people who loved her and encouraged her and helped her through this hard time. Drake, however, was not.

"You want me to fuck off?" Drake asked.

"No, don't." Jemma stopped him. "I'll go." She was heading to church, no doubt. She stood, went into the bathroom, and opened the closet, then grabbed a change of clothes. When she returned to the bedroom, she stopped.

Drake slowly lifted his head, waiting for a slap to the face or a rage-fueled insult. Instead, what he got was much, much worse.

"I want a divorce."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"I think you should put the alcohol away and go lie down," said Jemma.

Drake ignored her suggestion as he continued weeping. "I'm sorry," he said pathetically. "I'm so sorry, Jemma."

"I know," she whispered, and it sounded as though she, too, was weeping.

"I miss you so much. I wish I could take it back."

"Drake, it's just not working. Don't you remember how miserable we were together?"

"We weren't at first. Everything just got so fucked up."

"We can't go back to what we had. We just can't. Not after what we've been through."

"We can try," he begged. "I swear to God I can be a better person. I can't handle losing you, too."

"Sign the papers, Drake," she said as kindly as she could, and then she hung up.

The boy broke down then. The waterworks flooded down his cheeks because he was utterly and completely alone. Now he had to start over, and he just wasn't feeling up for that. How could someone just leave the life he had with one family and move on to another one? How could he ever go forwards from here?

Audrey had heard Drake talking in the living room and had quietly slipped downstairs to see what was going on. She'd been eavesdropping during part of his phone conversation, and she saw the divorce papers sprawled out on the coffee table in front of Drake. She frowned, her heart aching because her son was hurting so much. Mrs. Nichols made her way over to the young man.

When he heard her footsteps, he wiped away his tears and sniffled, averting his eyes. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice shaky as he tried to keep it still. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake." Audrey sat next to him and glanced at the unsigned divorce papers. "So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I really fucked everything up," Drake said. Although he'd meant what he'd said, he expressed a slight sarcasm in his voice because he sounded less vulnerable that way. However, he couldn't stand being so cold to his mother anymore. "I think..." His face contorted for a moment as a single tear dripped down his cheek. "I think I just want her to be happy."

Audrey wiped his tear away with her thumb. She watched as her son picked up the pen shakily. He seemed to weigh it in his hand as if it felt heavier than normal. His mother moved her hand to his shoulder for support. Drake leaned over the table and pressed the point of his pen against the paper. He paused there for a second, but he knew it was something he had to do. This is what Jemma wanted, and he owed it to her. She deserved to move on to a healthier relationship without all of these horrid memories. She deserved everything good that life had to offer. She deserved something better.

More tears streamed down his cheek as he began moving the pen, signing his name. _Drake Parker_. When he was finished, he sat back and observed his work, taking note of the way the _K_ was somewhat squiggly due to his overpowering nerves, which had caused his hand to tremble. That was it. Now it's official. Now he's single. He was by himself. But his mom's hand pulling his head onto her shoulder reminded him that he wasn't alone.

 ***FLASHBACK***

"I'll race ya!" Drake yelled. He turned and watched his son chasing after him. The young man exaggerated his steps, making it look as though he was going faster than he actually was so that Meekah could catch up. He smiled when he heard laughter. "I'm almost there!" And then he fake-tripped and hit the sand.

Meekah's giggling became uncontrollable as he sped by.

"You're not getting past me!" Drake grabbed him and pulled him into his lap. He yelled with a low-pitched voice, "I am the TICKLE MONSTER!"

Jemma set her water down that she'd went back to their car to retrieve. She found that her son was laughing intensely almost to the point where he couldn't breathe. She removed her flip-flops and stepped into the sand of the park playground. She snuck up behind her husband, then said, "I'll save you, Meekah!" and then she reached down and tickled Drake's side, his most sensitive tickle spot.

"Hey!" the man shouted with surprise.

While he was distracted, she playfully snatched her child up and swung him around. He continued laughing like a hyena. Before she started to get dizzy, she placed him at the top of the slide. Drake was at the bottom now, wiping the sand from his jeans. He squatted down and drum-rolled against the plastic.

"Three!" Jemma counted. She knew Meekah loved when she counted before letting him go. "Two! One!"

And then he was on his way down the slide, his face filled with joy. Drake caught him at the bottom, then he purposely fell onto his back and lifted Meekah into the air.

"You're so strong!" Drake said. "You knocked me down!"

Meekah held his arms out as if he was a bird. Jemma grabbed him and held him on her hip.

"Let's go swing up high. Daddy will play us a song on his guitar, okay?"

Drake followed her lead and pushed himself out of the sand. He moved over to the pile of their belongings as Jemma placed her son in one of the swings that had a buckle on it. Drake opened his guitar case and pulled out his instrument. He sat down in the sand and rested the guitar on his thighs, strumming to make sure that it was still in tune. Meekah loved when he played music. He would often pretend to play along by beating his hands against whatever object he was nearest to and making noises as an attempt to try and form words.

The young man started playing a few chords after deciding on a song.

 _When life leaves you high and dry_  
 _I'll be at your door tonight_  
 _If you need help, if you need help_  
 _I'll shut down the city lights_  
 _I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe_  
 _To make you well, to make you well_

 _When enemies are at your door_  
 _I'll carry you away from war_  
 _If you need help, if you need help_  
 _Your hope dangling by a string_  
 _I'll share in your suffering_  
 _To make you well, to make you well_

 _Give me reasons to believe_  
 _That you would do the same for me_

 _And I would do it for you, for you_  
 _Baby, I'm not moving on_  
 _I'll love you long after you're gone_  
 _For you, for you_  
 _You will never sleep alone_  
 _I'll love you long after you're gone_  
 _And long after you're gone, gone, gone_

 ***END FLASHBACK***

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: This took forever. I've been saying that every time I post something, but I've been working on this on and off for eight months. Yeah, this short thing. Anyway, I've never been close to anyone who has battled cancer, so I tried to stay away from the specifics of it to avoid too much inaccurate information. Hopefully, I was able to do that. I suck at endings. I just woke up this morning and decided that I was gonna finish this, and I actually did! It's been nine hours, and I'd already had half of this written before starting today. Okay, so let me know what you think. I know the ending is shit.**

 **Also, for the Charlie series readers, I'm trying! I've got the next chapter written, but I'm trying to stay ahead. But it's coming. I just wanted to put something else out there that's different (as in not drug-related) than what I usually write.**

 **Also, the inspiration (and cover photo) for this story came from the game That Dragon, Cancer. It's definitely a must-play, or if you don't want to spend money, you can watch YouTubers play it on their channel. I would suggest Markiplier or jacksepticeye. It was an incredibly powerful experience, and my heart goes out to that family.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, guys. Give me all your feedback whether it's positive or negative. And let me know if you play the game! Love y'all!**


End file.
